The Parent Plan Part 3. Paula Riggs Detmer

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СКАЧАТЬ it take before she stopped acting like a giddy schoolgirl with a crush every time they happened to meet unexpectedly? she wondered as she fought to regain her composure.

      When the earth stops spinning or that untamed sex appeal that he exudes suddenly disappears, came the answer from the more primitive part of her woman’s heart.

      Cassidy, too, stopped dead when he caught sight of her, and for an instant, she was sure she saw a naked look of longing flash across his carved-granite features, but when he spoke, his voice was as controlled as ever.

      “I rang the bell,” he said, shifting his stance. “I figured you wouldn’t mind if I let myself in.”

      Karen resisted the urge to huddle deeper into the oversize Broncos jersey that served as her nightshirt. She hadn’t missed the hot lick of arousal that had appeared in his eyes when he first caught sight of her standing there with her legs bare and the neck of the big shirt hanging over one shoulder. That, at least, hadn’t changed. Cassidy found her sexually appealing.

      “Of course not. You’re always welcome in my mother’s house.”

      He narrowed his gaze, but not before she saw a slice of frustration in those dark depths. “But not in yours?”

      “You’re Vicki’s father,” she said evasively. “You’ll always be welcome in her house.”

      His mouth slanted. “I came up to see if you were awake yet. I tried to be quiet, just in case.”

      She couldn’t help smiling. Cassidy was too big and too impatient to be quiet—unless he was sleeping. And even then, he had a tendency to mutter disjointedly. Though she’d never managed to make out more than an odd word or two, the urgent tone of his rambling suggested that he was pleading with someone only he could see.

      Early in their marriage, she’d tried to get him to talk about the problems that followed him so tenaciously into sleep. After a few abrupt but icy rebuffs, she’d let him fight his nocturnal battles alone. Now she wondered if the pleading words had been directed at the mother he claimed to hate.

      “You didn’t wake me,” she assured him, endeavoring to make her voice as cool as his. “Or, if you did, it was time for me to get up, anyway.”

      He nodded, then glanced back toward the stairs. Probably planning his escape route, she thought. These days they rarely managed more than five minutes of conversation before one or the other walked away. This time she decided to make it easy for him.

      “Was there anything particular you wanted?” she murmured politely. To her surprise, he scowled and turned red.

      “I had a call from Redtree this morning. It seems that our daughter has taken up journalism.” He reached behind him and pulled a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. “She wrote this article after her class visited the Herald.”

      Cassidy saw the quick look of puzzlement come into Karen’s still sleep-drowsy eyes as she took the fax. Though he kept his gaze resolutely fixed on hers, he was all too painfully aware of the familiar outline of her small, firm breasts beneath the thin covering of her orange-and-blue sleep shirt. One look and he wanted her with an intensity that could weaken him, if he gave into it.

      “I was one of the chaperones for that trip,” she said, unfolding the paper. “I do recall seeing her talking with Rio at one point, but she didn’t say anything to me about an article.”

      “Yeah, well, she wrote one.” Cassidy shifted, far too aware of the growing desire in his lower body. “Look, why don’t I make some coffee while you read it? We’ll talk when you’re finished.” And dressed, preferably in something that a nun might consider conservative, he added silently as he turned and beat a hasty retreat.

      The coffee took four minutes to brew. She was back in six, dressed in old jeans and an outsize University of Colorado sweatshirt the color of a strawberry roan colt he’d once had.

      The shirt he could handle. It was too baggy to do more than whet a man’s imagination. But those damn jeans—now, they were giving him big trouble. Something about the way they cupped her backside and caressed her thighs, he suspected, wrenching his gaze to her face.

      He’d accepted his sexual need, but his craving for her affection and warmth just seemed to grow stronger the longer they were apart. He thought he’d had this leftover ache tucked safely away, but he’d been wrong.

      For a lot of years he’d fooled himself into thinking it was strictly sex he wanted, and sex he offered. But now, even as his body stirred and swelled behind the barbed constriction of his button fly, he knew that he would take a vow of celibacy for the rest of his life if she would look at him with love in those pretty gray eyes just one more time.

      Before either of them had a chance to speak, he picked up the mug he’d just filled with coffee and silently held it out to her. He knew her fingers would brush his, told himself he was braced to feel her touch. Even so, when her fingertips whispered against his, heat raced through him like a fever, leaving him weak and wanting inside.

      “Thanks,” she said, drawing the mug to her so quickly a few drops slopped over the side and onto her shirt where the big C curved over her breast. His mouth went dry, and he focused his attention on tasting his own coffee. He waited until she took a greedy sip before suggesting that they sit.

      “You look exactly the way I felt earlier.”

      “Actually, I feel as though I just might shatter if I breathe too hard,” she said, pulling out a chair. “And you?”

      “Like I’ve been kicked so hard my belly button got shoved into my backbone.” He took the chair opposite and dragged it back far enough to allow room for his long legs. Maybe, with the width of the table between them, the need to hold her would settle. Or maybe not, he realized as he tried to adjust his large frame to the medium-size chair.

      Beyond the sunny bay window his mother-in-law’s garden was bursting with color and life. There were flowers on the table, too, yellow trumpety things with long stiff stalks like the ones Kari had planted beneath the bedroom window. One of the frilly petals had a torn edge, as though it had been attacked by some garden pest.

      “Her penmanship is atrocious,” she said finally, breaking the silence.

      “Especially since she printed most of it,” he drawled, his throat so tight it was a miracle he could draw breath, let alone speak.

      Her smile was a ray of sunshine, but before he felt its warmth reach his cold face, it was gone, swallowed by the torment reflected on her face. “Imagine, promising to give up her allowance forever if we got back together.”

      “Take my advice, and take her up on it. It might be your only chance.”

      “You’re probably right.” Eyes downcast, Karen fiddled with the mug’s thick handle, turning it one way, then another. Since reading Vicki’s plaintive words, she’d been heartsick. A wry smile bloomed in her mind for a brief span at the layman’s terminology.

      Heartsick. Heartbroken. Heartsore.

      Words coined by poets to describe the feeling that now filled her to bursting. And yet, she knew that the human heart was incredibly resilient. Even hers.

      And Cassidy’s? Had his past layered his heart with so much bitterness it was no longer capable of doing anything СКАЧАТЬ